


What to do when they are gone

by Fangirlingmanaged



Series: Endgame Therapy [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-21 23:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17651927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlingmanaged/pseuds/Fangirlingmanaged
Summary: Steve goes. because he asked him to so many times. and like everything else, he's getting to it a little too late.





	What to do when they are gone

**Author's Note:**

> i was emotionally punched in the feels.

It’s different, is the first thing he manages to acknowledge. It’s not the oppressive, spot light feeling he imagined. There’s nobody getting in his face. There’s nobody tripping over themselves to acknowledge who he is. Sure, as soon as he sat down in the circle of chairs a couple of them men looked at him and their eyes went wide. Three more nodded at him. One of them glared, but then something on his face had told him the truth. They were all there for the same reason. They were all there because there was nowhere else for them to go.

The veteran that leads the session looks like him, Steve thinks. He looks exactly like him and like the team of people he left at the facility. He looks exactly like the man who suggested he come to this thing at all. He has an easy going smile on his face, but his eyes. Goddamn, Steve sees those eyes in the mirror every single fucking day.

They begin by introducing themselves. This is the moment Steve had been dreading since before this whole fucking nightmare started. Every time Sam had suggested that he do this, this had been the one step that tripped him up. For whatever misfortune, another fucking cosmic joke from an universe that hated him, he’s the first one to go up. Something in his chest beats against his sternum, he feels like it might pound its way out. Suddenly the room is too hot, and the lights are too bright and his hands are shaking. He clenches his jaw shut, trying not to panic, and stares at a spot on the wall.

“My name’s Steve,” he says, and his voice catches in his throat. He has no idea what to say next. Ideally, he would have a war and a place to name, but he has nothing now. this is supposed to be brief. They don’t have time to name every single place that has chipped a piece of him away. “New York.” Is what comes out of his mouth. Like a curse. Spit out like poison. He stands there for a minute too long, there’s… too much. So much. Stuck in his head. Bucky. Wakanda. Thor’s lifeless eyes. Natasha’s anger. Rhodey’s fire. Bruce’s retreat. And—he gives his head a violent shake of the head. No. not yet. He can’t think about him yet.

“Sit your ass down before you fall on it, grandpa,” someone says and is followed by shushing noises. The voice sounds like gravel, but there’s a mocking tone that immediately has Steve’s hackles rising. He focuses back on himself and catches the man’s eyes, the one that was glaring at him from the beginning, and his fists clench. “At ease, soldier,” the man says and gives Steve a sardonic smile. “this ain’t a battle.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something, _can never take a joke, huh, darling?_ But doesn’t. He’s suddenly exhausted and he falls back into his chair. The man sitting next to him gives him a squeeze to the shoulder, and Steve hates it. Not because it’s unwelcome or because he’s averse to the touch. He hates that it leaves him feeling cold. He hates that the last person who had touched him, really touched him, wasn’t around anymore. He hates knowing that most likely he’ll never be able to feel that again. Because the only person who touched him like this, so casually, without reservations and without malice, had been taken in a fucking space ship by the same fucker who had taken everything else.

“All right, guess it’s my turn,” Steve turns to look at the man again. That same smile now bringing an ache, deep and all consuming, to Steve’s chest. _Genius, billionair, playboy, philanthropist. “_ My name’s Edward,” Steve’s head falls to his hands without his notice. _God._ “And like I said the first time I was here. Retired. But if I had to pick a place, I gotta copy grandpa. New York.”

Steve stares down at the ground between his knees and tries not to hyperventilate. He tries not to think about it. It’s too much, too fast. He’s been pushing the truth since he came back, since his last conversation with Ross, since stepping foot into the compound. He had avoided every place that could trigger… _this._ Now, he’s assaulted with it all at once.

                                                            ***

_“it’s not that bad,” Tony had said quietly, one late night after he’d found Steve in his lab under three blankets and an empty look in his eyes. “It actually helps.”_

_“Mmm,” Steve has said. To acknowledge he was listening but didn’t really feel like talking._

_“Really, Steve, it helps,” Tony had placed a hand on his shoulder and Steve sighed. That was why he always sought him out above everyone else. To most people, Tony was arrogant and irreverent, but Steve knew better by now. it always made him feel guilty, to think back to all the shit he had said and thought about the man at the beginning, and he whines lowly. “Hey, hey, darling, it’s all right,” Tony scoots closer to him and puts an arm around his shoulder. Steve sighs and melts into him. “you know I’ll always be here, if you need me, that’s not what this is about,” Tony tells him, cutting straight to the heart of Steve’s insecurities. “But I’m no professional, and I’m majorly fucked up. I just want you to be all right. That’s all I want for you, Cap. I just want you to be okay.”_

_“I am,” Steve had said quietly, eyes closed and wrapped in his blanket burrito with Tony’s arm around him. The chill no longer there, at least for a few days. “I’m okay now.”_

_***_

Tony had asked, so many times, for him to visit a therapist. Maybe not a therapist, but at least a support group. When Sam had found out, it had been even worse; neither of them would let him forget that it was an option. With Sam, Steve could be level headed or just walk away, but Tony… God, Tony had always been different.

 _I’m here,_ he thinks, head still in his hands and breathing erratic. _I’m trying. Too little, too late, I know. But I’m here._

He only wishes it wasn’t too damn late.


End file.
